All Because of the Secretary

It all began innocently enough....

It's like this, right, Jamie and I were talking about music and rather than try to explain what Ska is he was giving me band names to look up and have a listen. One band he highly recommended was The Slackers from NYC. He and Chris were supposed to open for them last year when The Slackers were touring northern England but the massive rains they had in Britain had made getting to the gig literally impossible. As you can take the girl out of the library but you can't take the library out of the girl, I quickly did my Slackers research while chatting with Jamie and discovered that they were going to be playing in Austin on January 25th and 26th...what a coincidence! I put the show on my calendar and spent the next two months listening to their tunes and getting happy.

Which brings us to Friday.

I had not purchased my tickets ahead of time and woke up Friday morning hoping the shows had not sold out. Checking the Flamingo Cantina website, I saw that I could buy tickets at End of An Ear Records on South First Street. I called, found out they still had tickets but the shows were expected to sell out so I should get down there if I was planning on going. Jeff had just gotten back from taking RC to dialysis so we piled into the truck and he took me and Wendy downtown to the trendy SoCo (South Congress) district. I got my two tickets, one for Larry's wife Holly who I had invited to come with me so I wouldn't be out by myself. This wasn't Jeff's kind of scene.

On the way back to the house, we stopped at Home Slice Pizza so Jeff could have something to eat. We had copies of the document from the VA stating that Wendy was a service animal and the manager and wait staff we're great with it. Wendy had been welcome there before, even without the not federally mandated piece of paper. Home Slice rocks. However, when the woman we were seated near saw the cat, she immediately called for the manager. She said she was highly allergic to cats.

This was our first time dealing with this situation. The manager spoke with her then spoke to Jeff, explaining the situation and saying that because the woman was there ahead of us and already having her meal, he was going to just move us to another table as soon as one opened up. Jeff and Wendy were great about it. But the woman kept complaining to her lunch date while we waited for another table. She said she had a special needs child so she knew all about service animals but that this just wouldn't do. And then she did the oddest thing: she put her hand up to the side of her face to make a shield so she didn't have to have Jeff and Wendy in her field of vision and she proceeded to eat her pizza like that, nearly blinding me as the light bounced off her gigantic diamond wedding ring. It was the craziest thing.

The manager was super and Jeff and Wendy had their pizza. From my new spot I could still see the woman and she remained quite animated about the whole ordeal across the room, though I did not once see her sneeze or blow her nose so obviously she must have fared all right. I know people who are highly allergic to cats and I understand the woman's distress but this honey played it for all it was worth. I'll be surprised if she had to pay her tab. The incident brought up an interesting point when we got in the truck. What happens when people who are highly allergic to cats get seated next to someone who has their winter coat covered with cat hair. We all know people who look like they are wearing their pet. If Fluffy has covered your wool coat from sleeping on the arm and rubbing up against your legs just as you were leaving the house, wouldn't that affect an allergic person as well? Who knows. Either way, Jeff and Wendy weathered the storm but it was a rocky start to the morning.

Later in the day, I left a message for Holly that I had a ticket for her if she still wanted to see The Slackers with me. As the hours ticked past and I didn't hear back, I figured she was working and was not going to be able to join me. I was going to be out on my own on Sixth Street on a Friday night for the first time. I don't know who was more nervous, me or Jeff.

The doors at Flamingo Cantina opened at nine. We left the house at just about that time and the ride downtown was a briefing. Sixth Street is like the Old Port only bigger, full of many, many more people, and a lot meaner. The club strip is not far from the dividing line of the highway with the east side. Plenty of folks slinging drugs. Plenty of immensely drunk people fighting and puking and falling down and laughing. A portion of Sixth Street is closed to vehicles from 9:30 pm until after 3:00am for crowd safety..or driver safety..hard to say which. We got there before the barricades went up so Jeff did a drive by of my club then showed me safe bars who know him where I could go into if I needed help. He pointed out the Driskill Hotel where he would pick me up after the show. I was to call him once I left the club, start walking, staying off the sidewalk incase a fight came rolling out a club door, and go to the valet at the Driskill, Austin's most posh and historic luxury hotel. Jeff helped design the security system there when the hotel was remodeled several years ago.

We came back around the block and he pulled to a stop infront of Flamingo. To my surprise Jeff put the truck in park and got out with me. He told me to get in line and that he was going to check and see who was working the door. He came back a minute later saying he didn't know the staff but that I'd be fine. We reiterated our meeting place then he looked at me like a dad leaving his little girl at kindergarten for the first time. He gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, told me to call if I needed him and that he would be in the area all night. And zoom, he and the war wagon were gone. The people in line behind me had no idea what to think. I pretended like it was just another Friday night while on the inside I thought for sure I would pee myself with excitement!

I managed to get inside the club with no major incidents beyond a wayward street musician, who was playing for smokes or nickels, writing a song about me and telling me he wished I was his girlfriend and maybe would I be his girl in a couple of years when he wasn't so fucked up. I told him maybe I would, we'd see how the song went first.

The three bands that played were fantastic. Channel One from San Antonio. Ryan Scoggins and the Trenchcoat Texans from Houston and then The Slackers from NYC. And thank goodness for The Slackers and an aging rastafarian or I would have been the oldest person in the club! The stage area of the cantina is actually semi-open air with a ceiling and three and a half walls. There is some bleacher seating in two areas and the bar and then a balcony that is fully open in nice weather. But as this is the major reggae club in town, there is mostly room for dancing and swaying.

Per my instructions, I scoped out my exits, found a place towards the back where I had a good view but wouldn't get smooshed as the crowd filled in and started moving. And I kept an eye on those who were tottering and challenged by gravity. I know some of you are laughing but bear in mind, other than a couple of folk concerts at Raoul's in Portland, I'd never been to a club to hear a band. This was all 100% new.

And I had such a good time! Unless you have a massive headache, ska music is infectious. You can't help but move your body. And the bands were great. They all had trumpets or saxophones or trombones and guitars and crazy wurlitzer organs and fun and funny vocals. And the crowd was so happy..and not just because there was booze and weed. Most of the folks were there just for the music. Now granted, they might have arrived happy but the music just kept you there.

As the Slackers were just coming back for their encore, someone took hold of my arm. I turned around to find Jeff beside me. The guys working the door let him in so he could tell me to meet him at Paradise just down the street instead of the Driskill when the show got over. He looked at me and said "Hey, do you smell all the pot in here?" I smiled at him and said. "What pot?" He looked very concerned for a minute then I smiled at him and told him I was teasing and yes I could smell it. He gave me a look that said something like "Alright young lady...." then he hugged me and was gone.

The band played for another 40 minutes then I got my t-shirt on the way out and found myself on Sixth Street at 1:30 on Saturday morning. Boy oh boy. What a scene. I can tell you right now that figured brick and cobblestone tend to retain vomit and that if you are wanting to go home with a skinny, emo, hipster college boy, Austin is the place to do it. Someone should feed those kids but be careful, they move in packs and would probably eat and drink you out of house and home. (Slackers ...>>>>>>)

But I made it down the street to Paradise unscathed where I found Jeff and also Bill, who becomes the official owner of Paradise on 1 February. This is the very bar where Bill worked as a bartender and saved his dough to start his own place. It's also the home of the porcelain parrot that Jeff took to Iraq with him, the whole thing written about in his short story, The Parrot.

Words cannot express the look of relief on Jeff's face when he saw me. "You made it!" he said and I was once again hugged and we had our post-op debriefing while the bartender brought me a Guinness. I wasn't the only one that had had an eventful evening it turned out. When the boss got to Third Base, his friend Dawn told him that her dog had gotten loose and that her roommate was out looking for it. Jeff said he would help look and drove out to where the girls live to see if he could connect with the roommate. Arriving at their place, he saw that the roommate's car was there so he went into the house and was subsequently greeted by the dog..and not in a friendly way. It bit him, tearing open his pants and having a taste of his calf! It was a minor bite, as dog attacks go but still... Jeff secured the dog and the house and got back in the truck. Those were his good jeans, too. Damn.

After telling me the story, he said he was going to run across the street and get a slice of pizza. One of the bartenders heard Jeff and gave him a few bucks to get him a slice, too. I sat sipping my Guinness still happy from the music and didn't even see it when someone stole Jeff's coat off the bar stool and walked out of Paradise. The boss came back, started eating his pizza, went to reach for his phone which was in his coat pocket with his keys and realized the coat was gone.

He had a vague memory of the last person who had been near him in the bar (it wasn't very crowded so close to last call) and thanks to the bartender who had waited on the guy, Jeff left Paradise with a good description of what the guy looked like..short, wearing a Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and now a black Carhart jacket. Jeff was gone a good 20 minutes, looking up and down Sixth Street, stopping to talk to the bouncers at all the clubs, saying there was a $100 reward for whoever helped him find the guy. Some of the security guys walked through their clubs with Jeff but nothing. He came back to see if maybe it had been a mistake and someone had just moved the coat or the guy had picked it up on accident, but no. Off he went into the night again. I had my truck keys and my spare to the Bat Cave so I knew we could get home and Jeff could get to Wendy, that is if the guy with Jeff's keys wasn't already driving the truck off.

Jeff came zipping back into the bar calling for me. I grabbed his cigarettes and lighter and made for the door. Just outside were four police on horseback. Jeff had reported the theft to them and they needed my cell phone number so they could call if they found the guy. A drunk blonde girl kept trying to pose with the police horse so her drunk boyfriend could take a picture. She was so busy trying to tell me that she loved horses and worked with them all the time that she didn't notice the horse stick its head into her ginormous purse and start chewing on the contents and lining. It was like being on episode of COPS only way funnier because the officer who was taking Jeff's statement was this little, round, female cop and in her uniform and helmet, she looked like an apple doll someone had placed atop this giant horse. She must have to have a boost to get up in the saddle and once up there, there was no room for her belly to go. I truly can't fathom how she stays on if the horse does more than walks.

So you've got one pissed off Jeff who has a dog bite, got stiffed with Bill's bar tab in a little game they play, and is missing his phone, keys and coat. You've got the drunk blonde, the opportunistic horse, the little Weeble police officer, three male officers also on horses all looking quite dashing, and me with a ska and pot contact high and a Guinness under my belt. Could it get any better?

Oh yes it can....

We head back to the truck, still looking as we're walking. Jeff has parked towards the rougher end of Sixth Street and tells me to stay close. Thankfully the truck is where he parked it. Once we get in and he starts driving, he tells me to call his phone and keep calling until someone picks up. They do on the first attempt but hang up when he says hello. He calls again, they answer and he begins telling them that he really needs his keys and phone back and he'll give them 100 bucks if they will just take the stuff back to Paradise. The guy on the other end keeps asking if it's for real and Jeff says yeah, he just really needs his keys back and so meet him at Paradise and it will be cool. Well the guy is drunk and not sure where he is but he's liking the sound of getting a 100 bucks so he stays on the line while we circle back around the block. Jeff pulls to the curb and hits the ground running with my phone in his hand.

I am now sitting in the truck alone while waves of very drunk and high people wander past. I locked the doors and sat patiently watching the scenes around me with the motor going, aware of the fact that if Jeff finds this guy, he will probably beat the tar out of him for stealing his coat and then possibly get arrested himself but he has my phone so there is no way for him to call me from jail. And he has no idea the number of my other phone which is back at the house.

Minutes go by. A crowd of shifty looking young guys slowly move past. I barely acknowledge that they are checking out the truck, giving my best "don't even think of fucking with me" look. By the way, that's not a look I've ever had to use before so I don't know how well I pulled it off but they kept walking. Then a group of tipsy girls tottered along in their heels and started cramming themselves into the car parked in front of me. One young blonde stood in the middle of the street, taking her time getting into the back seat, only after having blown a kiss to the guy in the van who was waiting for her to get the hell out of the way. Once the lady driver put the car in reverse, I was suddenly given the gift of clairvoyance
and was ready for the impact when she backed into my enormous white vehicle that you could probably see from outerspace, but evidently cannot see from the back window of a Dodge Stratus. There was no way I was getting out to ask for the girl's license and insurance and she had no intention of stopping once she got forward momentum anyway. I took down her plate number and kept waiting.

A few minutes later, the boss strode triumphantly around the corner, wearing his coat. I unlocked the door for him but as he started to get in, I told him to check the front of the Suburban for damage as we'd been backed into. He looked. It was fine. Good ol' war wagon. And Jeff was fine, too. The greedy thief had met him near Paradise and as luck would have it, the horse patrol was still right there. Jeff firmly but politely escorted the gent to the cops. Of course the guy said it was all a misunderstanding and that Jeff had promised him 100 bucks because the guy had brought the jacket back. And the guy was also stupidly drunk enough to keep lying so he couldn't explain why Jeff's keys were in his pants pocket and not the coat pocket with the phone. Consequently, that fella spent the night with the police, Jeff pressed charges and the crime which netted him no cash because Jeff doesn't keep money or his cards in his jacket, will probably end the guy with a felony.

We drove home in the darkness going over the day's events on the short ride. We had a confrontation with an allergic bitch at a pizza parlor while out getting tickets, the boss had been bitten by a dog, got stiffed with a bar tab, had his coat, keys and phone stolen and his truck backed into all because his secretary wanted to go to a ska concert downtown on a Friday night.

"And that," said Jeff, "is why you are going to make me cinnamon rolls right now."

When we got inside, Wendy was real happy to see Jeff and they talked about her evening while I put the rolls in the oven. Once they were done, we sat on the couch with milk and pastries watching something on cable. The boss looked at me and announced,

"I think it will be awhile before we have another concert, secretary."

I made the comment that the Flogging Molly concert had sold out at Stubb's already anyway. He looked at me over the icing on a bun and said with a half smile

"I can probably get you in...."














Go see The Slackers if they are in town. You'll love them!

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Nite, nite from the Fortress of Solitude.

xo wren